Red Wine
by Kalico37
Summary: To Mindy, red wine is the lock to her personal solitary confinement. But when it compels her to make a big decision, she will realize that it can be the key and her way out as well. Not related to previous D&J projects. Rated T because that's my thing.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Drake & Josh or any original characters/etc. from the series. But I do lay claim to Mindy's introspection as a result of alcohol in this story.**

**D&J one-shot for you. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Red wine? Never question the value of it.

I pick the ever-abused bottle up off my coffee table, and pour myself a glass. Satisfied, I swill the dark red liquid within its confines, and sit back on my two-seat couch, surveying the silence of my apartment. The more I focus on it, the more it seems to press in, suffocating me. I sigh, relatively loudly, for no particular reason, perhaps other than to prevent the silence from choking me further. No matter the intentions, though; the silence recedes with the sudden noise.

I look around my empty apartment. Appliances in working order, furniture arranged in showroom-like fashion, surfaces reflecting and shining as a result of meticulous cleaning. So sterile, so…cold. Despite the summer night weather, I bring the collar of my dressing gown up closer to my neck, where it had been hanging somewhat loosely off of my shoulders previously. I take a small sip of red wine, and lick my lips once the glass comes away from my mouth. I wonder if, when I was back in high school, I would have pictured my future as it is now; working in law with a job I love, but also living alone in a quiet, empty apartment, reducing the volume of a bottle of red wine every so often. I'd like to think that high-school me predicted at least part of that future. My gaze continues to wander, eventually settling on a cell phone lying dormant next to the bottle. Mentally, I envision accessing the contacts list, scrolling through and deleting random people, people whom I haven't seen or heard of since high school. It's a little bit depressing, that most of my contacts list are old friends from high school. It's more depressing to crunch the numbers and realize just how few of those friendships I've actually managed to save post-graduation.

People don't kill friendships. Well, not as much as many of us think, anyway; high school kills friendships. Or rather, getting out of high school kills friendships. There is only a slim probability that says high school friendships and relationships can last beyond graduating. A probability of 0.05, to be exact. Now that I think about it, I find it rather sad that I took time out of my day to research that statistic. But I digress.

As I was saying, graduating and people both have potential to kill friendships, but with a skew more towards the latter. For me, it was a combination of both. It's like I was one of the exceptions to the rule of thumb. As soon as I got out of high school, it was straight to Massachusetts and Harvard. My Bachelor's was done in three years, and then came Law School.

I've always known that one day I would be going to the East Coast, and I didn't have any problems with leaving San Diego, really. But then I had to get involved with Josh. Boy, now that threw a spanner in the works. I loved him, and it definitely wasn't my proudest moment when I had to give in to the call of higher education and break it off with him. Nevertheless, we're mature people, and that time was just another fragment of minutiae in the bigger scheme of our separate lives…actually, I don't know what it was. That's just it. I don't know.

I guess that as much as I can try to sweep it all under the proverbial rug, there is undeniably, admittedly, something special about a first love. I still get a dull pang whenever I log onto Facebook and see him making the most out of things with his wife. Yep, he's married. I was invited, and I would have gone, but I was crunching in school on the opposite side of the country. After I graduated from Law School, about a year ago, I got a job at a law firm in Los Angeles, so I moved back to the West Coast. On rare occasions, I would go down to San Diego, to visit my parents, and catch up with everyone.

It would seem that out of all the places I went back to most, I visited the Parker-Nichols residence just as much as I visited my parents' place. I managed to catch up with Megan on occasion, who herself was going through college. Out of all the times I went back, I only saw Drake once; he's well and truly blown up by now, touring all over the place. Despite all the hostility of high school, though, we still managed to be nice and civil with each other. Of course, Josh doesn't live there anymore, and I never saw him whenever I went back to San Diego; he got a job teaching up in Sacramento, where his wife's family lives. I've been up there on a few occasions. Lovely people, and they're both perfect for each other. Does it make me feel bitter? Somewhat, sometimes, but there are variables involved, such as how much I've had to drink, whether or not I'm in a relationship of my own, how I felt going into the visit, and so on. I think the evidence would suggest that I'd be thinking about it less if I did have a relationship of my own, but I've been down that rabbit hole before, and I hate to admit it, but I'm genuinely afraid of going back down there; the last two relationships I had ended...acrimoniously. I won't go into specifics, but I'll just say that I had my fair share of alcohol on both of those occasions.

Hmm, alcohol. I bring the glass to my mouth and sip.

Both of those relationships, if they could be called such, were both in my freshman year at college, and were moments in time I look back on as moments of weakness, desperation. The way that things ended the second time around…it absolutely killed me. It started as another rebound, but developed…I guess not as much as I was willing to think. For months, I was of the sincerest belief that there was actually something meaningful to the whole thing. Then came the day that I realized it: he really didn't care. At that point, I was so emotionally burnt out, I just decided that was it. I totally isolated myself from anyone and everyone for the rest of my education; I focused on schoolwork, rarely going out, and never talking to anyone. Now I know, though, that such a reaction was over the top, pointless, and stupid. It seems amazing to me that I actually kept it up as long as I did; I basically fell off the map until I graduated from Law School, and that was only last year. As such, I have basically no contacts from all my college years.

It's a shame, really. Sitting alone in my empty apartment, at this point basically draining a bottle of red wine, I think I could really use someone to talk to, besides myself. My gaze hovers over my phone again, and my left hand twitches. No, I don't want to call up someone out of the blue and unload my personal woes on them, especially when I haven't spoken to them or seen them in a number of years.

Huh, I could use a break from all this monotony. The stagnation of my personal life aside, I haven't even worked on a decent case in a while; lately all that's getting thrown my way are a number of blatantly-ridiculous class action lawsuits.

Maybe I could go down to…no. There is absolutely no reason to go back to San Diego at the moment. Megan's back in college, Drake's on the road, or on a plane, or however it works with his schedule, and my parents are off vacationing for the summer. What is it with old people and travelling? Oh, there I am, being bitter again. Speaking of which, the level of liquid in my bottle of red wine is getting dangerously low. Have I really drunk that much tonight?

Back in high school, I never would have thought about touching alcohol; the effect that it can have on people just seemed absolutely repulsive at the time. Surprisingly enough though, I realized that those sorts of effects only come around when either idiotic morons get their hands on alcohol, or when people who should really know better go way beyond their limit with the stuff. Me? I keep a decent medium. I don't even drink that much; just when I'm feeling particularly moody or bitter. Like now. I raise the glass to my lips and sip.

Well, maybe I can still talk to someone. Maybe I could just text someone. That might be better than calling someone up out of the blue. Yeah, okay, fuck it. I'm going to call Drake and Josh. I don't care which one of them responds, I don't care if they both respond. I _need _to talk about these things to someone. The way I've been living, ever since my last break-up in freshman year, it's not sustainable for much longer. Maybe, if my life had never changed, if I had never gotten involved with Josh, then it may be sustainable, but the simple truth is, I'm not used to living in solitude anymore, despite how I was living in my college years. It's like the saying goes, "how are you going to keep them down on the farm, when they've poked Paris?"

I raise the glass to my lips and swig the remaining amount of red wine. Okay, here goes. I pick up my phone and dial…Drake's number. I got his latest number from Megan one of the last times I went down to San Diego, so I'm confident that I won't be calling some random person.

_BEEP._

Damn, voicemail. Oh, yeah, he's probably onstage at the moment. Well, whatever, I'll bite.

"Hey, Drake, it's Mindy Crenshaw. I know I haven't seen or spoken to you in, probably, forever, but I was just thinking about some stuff, and I figured I could use someone to talk to. It's okay if you don't want to, but…"

_BEEP. _

Huh, sigh and move on. Josh now.

_BEEP._

Voicemail again? Does no one use their phone these days? Honestly.

"Hey, Josh, it's me. Hope you and Stacey are doing alright. I'm fine myself, but, uh, I was just thinking, and I could use someone to talk to. I'm a little drunk right now, so it's okay if you don't want to…"

_BEEP. _

Seriously. If there's something that people in the communications industry should be working on, it should be longer voicemail times.

That's quite enough of that. I toss my phone away, and it lands with a clatter on the coffee table, or the floor, or whatever. I don't care. I stare at the bottle of red wine; the _empty_ bottle of red wine. I have had so much to drink tonight, much more than usual. And, I guess, since I have no wine left in either bottle or glass, that I'm done for the night. Yep. I set the empty glass down on the floor. Now I have a decision to contemplate; do I make the trip to bed, or do I just sleep on the couch, in my dressing gown? Hmm, actually, that's a stupid question. I'm not going to be cold on a summer night, and with how much I've had to drink, I really can't be bothered with walking all the way to my bedroom. I move into a laying position, and sprawl myself across the couch.

* * *

I groan and slowly open my eyes. A slate of light is cutting through my partially-closed curtain. Continuing to groan and mumble unintelligibly, I manage to sit up, and the first thing I do is rub my temple; my head is throbbing. Thankfully, I don't need to go into work today.

Okay, I have to think through the pain. A headache, considering the circumstances of the previous night, means dehydration. I need to drink a heap of cold water to get past the capillaries in my head constricting this tightly. One cup of cold water to be followed by another. This is what I get for draining my bottle of red wine last night. I groan again and walk to my bathroom. Drink water, have a shower. I fill a cup with cold tap water from the sink, turn on the shower, and drop my gown and nightwear to the floor. I take a gulp from the cup and step in. Instantly, I feel the fantastic spray of the hot water against my bare skin, cleaning off the murkiness of last night's mire. Let the decompression begin.

* * *

A gallon of water, a beautifully-wonderful shower later, and I'm faring much better than I was when I woke up. I walk out of my bathroom, feeling much fresher. I go to open my curtain, and let the sunlight flood in, when my left foot kicks a small object. Oh, yeah, that'll be my phone. I bend down and pick it up. There's a tiny crack in the top of the screen, very likely as a result of tossing it onto the floor last night after…wait. Oh, right! I go through my phone as I draw the curtains open, and I see two things. One new text message, one new voicemail. I open the text message first.

_Hey there, how's life? Haven't seen you in ages. Um, I'm fine, I'm pretty busy at the moment, and I don't know what I can help you with, but hey, maybe we'll get coffee next time you're around. Good luck, with whatever you've got going on._

Okay, so that seemed…insincere. Voicemail next.

"_Hey, Mindy, haven't seen you in a long time. Just got your message. I wonder what you're getting up to these days. You're still living in L.A, right? I'm going there tomorrow morning for business, call me when you get this, and we'll get coffee or something sometime. See ya, maybe."_

Now _that _was a voicemail. No long pauses, making sure the _full_ message was spoken. I wonder how my voice message sounded. I was probably slurring, and pausing, and all of it.

But I liked that message. Much better than the text; it didn't sound like he was trying to brush me off, and he sounded like he wanted to meet up. Interesting. I don't even know what I was thinking when I left those messages, and I sort of forgot about them, considering I spent the last 30 minutes decompressing. Now I'm surprised that they responded. I won't be responding to the text, no way. But the voicemail was much more inviting, and it did say "call me when you get this." Well, guess what, I will call you. I re-dial the number, and put the phone to my ear.

"_Hello?"_

No voicemail. I smile. "Hey, Drake."

"_Mindy. I guess you got my message."_

"Yeah. How are you doing?"

"_Yeah, I'm good. I'm outside the airport at Dallas, just winding down after my show last night. So, you want to talk?"_

"Yeah, if you want."

"_Uh, sure. But, why?"_

I pick my response carefully. "I suppose, that I'm interested in giving my life a bit of a kick-start at the moment."

"_And you've gotta start somewhere, right? Sure, I get that. Yeah, I'm about to head inside the Fort Worth airport. I've got a flight to L.A, and I'll be there in a short while, later this morning. I'll call you when I get around? We'll get some coffee?"_

My smile feels perpetual at the moment; this is going well. It all seems so foreign to me again, but I know that it's going well. "Sure."

"_Great. See ya then."_

"Yeah. Oh, and, Drake? It's good to talk to you again."

"_Sure. Catch ya."_

He hangs up, and I close the call on my end. This is an interesting development. I guess this call was definite proof that I can't live in a pool of red wine my entire life. Despite living in a self-induced solitary confinement for years, I have no problems with stepping out and closing that door behind me. The first step? Reaching out to the first visitor I can pull over.

I pick up the now-empty bottle on my coffee table, and smirk. Screw red wine. I'm going for coffee.

* * *

**At some stage, I thought this was only going to be around one and a half thousand words, and I ended up tacking an extra one thousand on top of it. I'm not complaining though; that's perfectly fine with me.**

**This is a decompression project during season break for my RWBY project, and I'm glad that I actually got around to it. R&R if you feel.**

**...Truly Yours, Kalico.**


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